


Even If It Hurts Later

by FleetofShippyShips



Series: Prompted Harry Potter Works [37]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, HP: EWE, M/M, Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Sad Ending, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 00:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12946941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetofShippyShips/pseuds/FleetofShippyShips
Summary: Prompt:“I dunno, maybe we’ve had enough rum."“Judging by the fact we can still talk, and we’re fully clothed, I’m going to disagree."





	Even If It Hurts Later

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by starshaping on my nsfw sideblog. This is the 2nd fill for this prompt, the first was a lot happier.

“I dunno, maybe we’ve had enough rum,” Harry said, watching Ron pour them both another.

“Judging by the fact we can still talk, and we’re fully clothed, I’m going to disagree,” Ron said, picking up his drink, and taking a sip. Closing his eyes for a moment, he moaned. “So good. Where did you get this stuff again?”

Harry blinked, forcing himself to focus, and turn his eyes away from the flex of Ron’s throat.

“Gift from... I can’t remember. Not important,” he said, watching Ron lick his lips after another sip.

He’d definitely had enough if he was starting to focus on stuff like that. Normally, he kept his libido well in check around Ron, who only seemed to become more and more attractive with each bloody month. In fact, Harry had been trying to avoid drinking with him for just this reason. But here they were, sitting on the floor in the lounge of their shared flat, having consumed too much rum, and not bothering to put another movie on.

“What’d you mean about clothes?” he asked, grabbing his glass, and taking another sip himself. Probably a bad idea, but he was feeling parched after watching Ron lick his bloody lips again.

Ron shrugged. “Don’t you remember the last time I got completely pissed? Ended up running around starkers. When I go too far, I like getting naked. Merlin knows why.” Ron looked over at him, and his gaze seemed to roam over Harry from head to toe, leaving shivers in its wake. “And touchy.”

Harry swallowed against a dry throat. “Touchy?” He did remember Ron got a bit that way back in their catch-up eighth year, when they’d had secret parties and drinking games, and Ron and Hermione had called it quits amicably enough that it hadn’t resulted in any problems. Harry had managed to avoid, or leave early, any time Ron was getting drunk, so he didn’t know if he still did that now. “Not much chance with only me here.”

Shrugging again, Ron downed the rest of his drink, and put his glass down on the coffee table. “I dunno.”

That wasn’t a topic Harry should allow to continue, and yet…

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, putting his own glass down.

Ron scoffed and crawled closer, grabbing Harry’s glass and downing the last mouthful Harry had left. It brought them much closer, and Harry bit his lip. He shouldn’t have agreed to start drinking while they were watching movies. He shouldn’t have even sat with him on the same damn couch. This ridiculous infatuation he had with him had gotten out of hand. It was getting in the way of their friendship, and Ron didn’t even know about it.

Harry could hardly stand to be close to him anymore without wanting to get closer. He kept telling himself it was just a lack of sex, but really, he hadn’t been having sex because he’d started comparing potential partners to Ron, and they never held up against him.

“Just, who cares?” Ron said, putting the empty glass down, and sitting back, leaning against the couch.

“The fact you’re not into blokes?” Harry said with a frown. Ron had been brilliant when he’d come out as bisexual, but he’d been very firm about how even if he fully supported him, he couldn’t understand because blokes just weren’t for him.

Ron looked at him, and shrugged again. “If it had to be someone.”

Harry’s heart started to race. What kind of thing to say was that? They had absolutely had too much rum. And Ron was looking him over again.

Harry’s throat went dry, and he swallowed heavily. He really should go to his room.

“Bollocks,” he said instead. “You’d probably gross yourself out.”

Ron scowled at him, and sat up. He shuffled on his knees, and held Harry’s face between his hands before Harry could even move.

“That sounds like a challenge.”

Harry stopped breathing for a moment. Ron’s breath was hot over his face, and smelled like alcohol, reminding him what was really going on here.

But he was so close, and Harry’s heart was racing, and he’d been thinking about this so much lately.

“You’re all talk,” he said, sounding completely unsure of himself.

Ron grinned, and then closed the distance, pressing their lips together. Not even just once. He pulled back for a fraction of a second, and then was back. Harry was too startled to respond at first, but then his mind caught up to the fact _Ron_ was kissing him, and he was losing the opportunity to see what that was really like.

Reaching out to grip Ron’s forearms, he kissed back.

Ron pulled back at once, and grinned at him. “Are you sure _you’re_ not all talk, mate?” he asked. “You call that a kiss?”

Harry scowled, and grabbed Ron’s collar to pull him back. Ron started to laugh, but it was lost to Harry’s mouth. His senses were overwhelmed by the smell of rum, and the heat of Ron’s mouth, and the clutch of his fingers in Harry’s hair.

If this might be the only time this happened, if Ron pulled back and said never again, then Harry wanted to make it worth it. He’d been wanting it too long to waste it.

Probably too forcefully, too frantically, he kissed Ron. Shifting his hands from his collar, he slid one to his side, and pulled him closer, while the other cupped his jaw, to tilt his head. Kissing deeper, he moaned at the touching of their tongues, and pulled Ron even closer.

Ron’s hands shift from his hair to his shoulders, and then he was pulling back. Harry tried to follow, but Ron held him in place.

Harry didn’t want to open his eyes and see the rejection. That it was all a joke, a dare, and it was over. But he couldn’t stop himself from looking anyway. Ron had already been flushed from the rum, but his face was even redder, and so were his lips. Harry stared at them, and watched them tilt into a grin.

“Better,” Ron said, like he was grading him.

Harry’s stomach twisted, but he couldn’t quite let Ron go. It didn’t seem to matter though, Ron was leaning back in, catching his lips again, biting them gently, before cradling his head, and kissing him deeply. Harry moaned softly, and wanted to cringe from it, but Ron’s hands were now mapping his cheeks, and he was pulling back again to look at him.

It seemed Ron was mapping his face with his eyes, and Harry shivered, and clutched at his arms again.

Shaking his head, Ron laughed. A low, almost wry thing. “Bit weird this, but you’re not a bad kisser, Harry.”

Harry bit his lip, and let Ron go. There it was. It was just another weird drunken experience for Ron. He knew that. He had always known that would be it, if such a thing were to ever happen. And yet, it hurt.

Why on earth had he gone and fallen for his best mate? Hadn’t he been through enough?

But then Ron was leaning in again, a hot exhalation preceding him, warming Harry’s face, surrounding him with that smell of alcohol. Making his thoughts seem harder to hold onto.

Ron’s lips were firmer, more forceful. His teeth scraped Harry’s lips, and then Harry was falling back. The air left his chest when his back hit the floor, but he couldn't have breathed anyway. Ron just crawled over him, and leaned down, kissing him again.

Forceful, urgent, deep. Harry clutched at him, and moaned through the feel of it until, again, Ron pulled back.

“Fuck, it’s been too long since I had a good snog,” he said, his fingers drifting along Harry’s jaw, and then down the side of his neck. “How ‘bout you? Haven’t seen you bring anyone home for a while.”

Harry swallowed as Ron gripped his chin lightly, and turned his head to the side. The feel of lips on his throat sent shivers coursing through him, and he clutched at Ron’s sides, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.

“Your skin’s so soft,” Ron mumbled, his fingers touching and pressing the other side of Harry’s neck, down to his collarbone, and over his shoulder, under the neck of his shirt. “How’s it so soft?”

Harry swallowed, and tilted his head back. A soft sound escaped him when he felt Ron’s teeth scrape over the side of his neck. It sent shivers coursing through him. Ron was tugging at the neck of his shirt again, fingers skating over what little skin was exposed.

Touchy while drunk, he had said.

It wasn’t surprising then, when he leaned back, and gripped the bottom of Harry’s shirt. Harry knew he shouldn't let it happen, but he found himself raising his arms, and letting Ron pull it off him. Immediately, Ron’s hands framed his ribs, pushing him back down, and then just sitting there, rising and falling with Harry’s heavy breathing.

And Harry was breathing heavily, loud in the silence. His face felt like it was burning, as Ron looked him over slowly, and then smoothed his hands up. Harry’s breath hitched when Ron’s thumbs brushed over his nipples, and he let his head drop back against the floor, embarrassed at how they hardened just from that brief touch, as Ron continued to slide his hands up to Harry’s shoulders.

Shivering, Harry bit his lip as Ron’s thumbs brushed over his nipples again, as his hands slid down, until they were framing the lower portion of his ribs again.

“Still too skinny,” Ron murmured, leaning forward, brushing his lips over Harry’s shoulder. “Always too skinny. But fuck, mate, your skin’s so soft.”

“If you say like a girl’s, I’ll punch you,” Harry said, his fingers digging into the carpet under him, trying to grab something, anything, as Ron’s mouth kept moving over his collarbone, and the base of his throat.

Laughing, Ron slid one hand back up, until it was resting over his nipple. “Bit obvious you’re not,” he said. “No tits.”

Harry bit his lip again. Just the pressure of Ron’s palm against his nipple sent little bursts of pleasure through him.

It only got worse, and Ron shifted his hand, and then pressed at his nipple with his thumb. Back and forwards, up and down. Harry shifted restlessly, his breathing loud and harsh, biting his lip harder and harder.

“This feels different too,” Ron said, lifting his head away from Harry’s neck to watch his own thumb brush Harry’s nipple.

A low sound finally broke free from Harry’s throat, and he shut his eyes against the embarrassment. But Ron didn’t even stop, he kept touching, he let his nail scrape over the tightened peak of it, until Harry made a louder sound, and pressed his chest up into the sensation.

Ron’s lips brushed over his throat, and Harry tilted his head back to give him space, aching for more open kisses. Aching for Ron to leave a mark on him so he could be sure in the morning that this really happened. It didn’t seem real. He’d wanted this for so long.

“Moan again,” Ron breathed, his mouth brushing Harry’s throat. “I want to feel it.”

His words had the opposite effect, and Harry’s breath hitched, and he held it. His body was shivering again, pleasure still bursting from the nipple Ron kept touching, pressing, flicking.

With a grumbling sound, Ron suddenly pinched Harry’s nipple between his fingers, gently, but firmly, and Harry moaned before he could stop himself. He could feel Ron’s mouth open on his throat, laying hot kisses, and sucking a patch of skin.

He’d never been with someone so fixated on the feel of his skin, or the vibration of moans in his throat. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever been with someone who played with his nipples so much. But Ron had released his right nipple, only to slide his hand over and start touching the other.

“Ron…”

Ron hummed against his throat, sucking the skin there, his fingers tormenting Harry’s other nipple until Harry was pushing his chest into it and forgetting what he’d been trying to say. Maybe no one else had paid them much attention, and he was more sensitive than he’d thought. Or maybe it was because it was Ron’s fingers brushing, and flicking, and pressing.

The dull ache in his groin quickly became unbearable. Ron kept sucking on his neck, nipping at the base of his throat, and still, his fingers toyed with Harry’s nipples. Harry pressed into it, tilted his head back, and shifted his hips restlessly, searching for friction. He couldn’t have stopped the moans now if he wanted too. His whole body felt alight with pleasure, just from what Ron was doing to his nipples.

“The way you’re pressing into this is really hot, mate,” Ron murmured, shifting until his forehead was pressing against Harry’s sternum. “Fuck, I feel your moans here too.”

“What is this?” Harry gasped, regretting the words the moment they were out of his mouth.

Humming, Ron kissed across his chest, but stopped just short of his right nipple.

“I dunno, your skin is so soft, I don’t want to stop touching it,” he said, sliding one hand down Harry’s side to hold just above his hip. “Do you want me to stop?”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut tight. He should say yes. He should say yes. This was nothing to Ron. It was the alcohol, his strange drunken fixation on touch. It was just a drunken bout of experimentation. It was nothing. He should say yes.

“No, don’t stop,” he breathed.

Ron made a pleased sound, and then wet heat encased Harry’s right nipple. Another deep moan broke free from Harry, and he slid one hand into Ron’s hair. Ron only made another pleased sound as Harry’s blunt nails scraped over his scalp. He laved at Harry's nipple, broad swipes, then pointed flicks with his tongue, while Harry moaned and writhed under him, pressing up into the sensation, until Ron placed a hand over his sternum, and pressed him down.

“Blimey, you squirm about,” Ron mumbled, before sucking Harry’s nipple.

The action sent fire coursing through Harry, and he shifted his hips restlessly again, as the aching of his cock became unbearable. The hand Ron wasn’t using to support himself with, the one he’d pushed Harry down with, slid from his sternum down to his navel. Shivers erupted over Harry, as Ron brushed his fingers over his navel, and then circled it in smooth slow circles.

“ _Ron_.” He wanted that hand lower. Merlin, he was throbbing and aching something fierce. But it was so unlikely that Ron would want anything to do with his cock.

Letting his teeth scrape over Harry’s nipple as he released it, Ron lifted his head. Harry cracked his eyes open to see he was even more red-faced than before, as he raked his gaze over Harry, moving to the side to get a full look.

Seeing Ron’s gaze land on his crotch, Harry wanted to bolt to his room. How much of this was Ron explaining away as the alcohol? Would he guess that it was so much more for Harry? Or would he just assume that Harry was down for it since he liked blokes? That it would be nothing for him to?

“Can’t be that different to wanking, right?” Ron asked quietly, shuffling back to where he was before, kneeling over Harry’s thighs. His hands landed on Harry’s ribs, and then slid down, until he hooked his fingers under the waistband of Harry’s jeans, and then brought them to the centre, to the button. Harry jerked into the contact, the light brushing off Ron’s knuckles against such sensitive skin, so close to his cock.

“Different angle,” he muttered, lifting himself onto his elbows, and watching with wide eyes as Ron undid the button and zipper of his jeans. “You’re not actually going to touch my cock.”

Ron snorted, looking up and meeting his gaze. “That another challenge?” he asked, as he started tugging Harry’s jeans off.

Harry made a soft sound once they were off, and he was left in just his pants, with a very obvious outline of his cock, and a very obvious wet patch. Merlin, he was so hard, he ached to reach down and take himself in hand, but the sight of Ron staring at his cock had him frozen in place, wondering if he really would touch it.

This night was going to fuel many, many wanking sessions. But it was also going to hurt like hell.

Harry was sure he should be putting an end to it, but Ron moved closer, straddled his thighs, and all thoughts of that flew from his mind.

“Good show,” Ron murmured. “You’re leaking already.”

Harry’s only response was a sort of muffled squeak. Something between a laugh, and an embarrassed groan.

“Doesn’t this weird you out?” he asked, even though the answer would hurt.

Ron bit his lip, and reached out, until the backs of his first two fingers brushed the wet patch of Harry’s pants, and the head of his cock underneath.

Harry’s body jerked, and his cock visibly twitched in his pants. Ron exhaled slowly.

“Bloody weird, but weirdly bloody hot too,” Ron murmured, letting his fingers trace the outline of Harry’s cock, drawing a muffled moan from him. “I want to see what it feels like.”

Touchy while drunk. Harry cursed himself for ever commenting on it, while also congratulating himself, as Ron started tugging his pants off, and his cock was freed.

Naked on the floor of their lounge, Harry watched Ron take in the sight of him, and watched as his fingers twitched. He couldn’t help but wonder if Ron was like this when he was sober, with the women he brought home. If he was so focused on mapping skin and sensation. If they writhed and trembled under his obviously capable hands and mouth.

The thought sent a surge of jealousy through him, and he looked away.

Ron’s hand landed on his hips, but he didn’t want to look. This was an experiment to Ron. New skin to touch while he was drunk and fixated on such things. Merlin, why was he letting this happen?

“Can’t believe I did this to you,” Ron murmured, his fingers scratching through Harry’s pubic hair, making his hips twitch, before his touch drifted along the shaft of Harry’s cock.

Harry bit his lip, and squeezed his eyes shut. The turn of his thoughts hadn’t done anything to lessen the arousal surging through him. The fact that even if it hurt tomorrow, it was Ron, and he’d been wanting this for so long.

Ron’s fingers seemed to map out his cock, drifting, pressing, rubbing. Harry gasped, and writhed, and tried to bury his fingers in the carpet again.

“Shorter than mine,” Ron murmured softly. “Heavier though, little bit thicker maybe.” His touch drifted from the base to the head, where he gently rubbed his thumb through the precome, smoothing his touch. “Your veins pop a bit more, mate. Feel nice.”

Harry’s breath hitched, as Ron finally wrapped his hand around him properly. He was going to come embarrassingly fast. And Ron would probably mock him for it in the morning. Which would only make it all hurt more.

“Why don’t you just whip yours out and measure them?” he hissed, wishing in turns that it was already over, and that it could go on forever. Because even if it hurt later, Ron’s hands were on him. Ron was touching him, he wanted to be touching him. And his touch was so perfect.

Ron snorted. “Already know I’d win. Not that it matters. Who gives a fuck, you know?” His grip on Harry’s cock tightened, but his hand didn’t move, and Harry whined low in his throat, shifting his hips. He felt close to bursting, his whole body thrumming with heat. “Still feels nice to touch. Not a bad cock, mate. Not that I know anything about good cocks, but you know. Nice.”

Harry groaned. “Shut up about my cock!”

“Well it’s in my hand,” Ron muttered. “Sorry, got distracted.”

His hand finally moved, stroking in firm, quick movements. Harry groaned, and cracked his eyes open. Ron was still straddling his thighs, and was watching his hand stroke Harry’s cock with an intense look. Then he brought his second hand up, and thumbed at his slit.

With an embarrassing sound, Harry’s hips lifted off the ground, and he came.

Ron muttered something low, but Harry closed his eyes and focused on how it felt, and how Ron’s strokes slowed, and gentled, until they disappeared altogether, and all Harry could feel of him was the weight of him settled on his thighs.

“Blimey,” Ron muttered, and Harry opened his eyes before he thought better of it.

Ron was staring down at him, and the mess he’d made. His fingers were twitching, like he wanted to run them through it. The thought made Harry’s spent cock twitch.

Out of a curiosity that was more likely to hurt him, Harry propped himself up, and looked over Ron. Still red from the alcohol, and probably what he’d done. Looking further down, his breath was stolen from his chest, as he saw an obvious outline through Ron’s trousers.

“Oh, yeah, that,” Ron said, as he noticed where he was looking. “You have nice skin.”

Harry dimly realised he should laugh at that, or act offended, but his attention was fixed on the outline of Ron’s cock, and the aching need rising in him.

“Want some help with that?” he asked, looking up, and meeting his gaze.

Ron stared at him, but didn’t answer. The silence started to feel awkward, and Harry felt his face burn.

“It’s a bit weird,” Ron finally muttered, looking down at his own crotch.

Harry made a sound of agreement, but he didn’t understand. “Alright, but, if you want, it’s only fair, since you did me,” he said with a shrug, looking around for his pants.

“Shit,” Ron said, with a hiss.

Harry turned back to see him pressing the heel of his palm against his crotch. The sight made his hands itch. He wanted to do it.

It might be his only chance.

While he stared at him, Ron got up and sat heavily on the couch, unzipping his trousers, and freeing his cock from his pants. Leaning his head back against the couch, he started stroking it right in front of Harry like he wasn’t even there.

Harry found and pulled his pants on, relaxing as he felt less exposed, even if he was still a mess. He crawled closer, watching the flex of Ron’s wrist, and drops of precome appear at the head of his cock.

“Fuck, mate, you just gonna sit there and watch?”

“You gonna sit there right in front of me and do it?” Harry countered.

Ron laughed breathlessly, his eyes sliding shut. A few moments later, he came, with his mouth open in a silent moan, and Harry felt his stomach sink at the lost chance.

“Fucking weird night, mate,” Ron muttered, laying down on his side. “Gonna laugh about this tomorrow.”

Harry’s stomach twisted. Against his better judgment, he shuffled closer.

“Ron?”’

“Hmm?” Ron cracked an eye open.

Hands shaking, Harry leaned down and kissed him. It would be the last time he knew, but he just couldn’t stop himself.

Ron kissed back, slow, lazy, comfortable. It made Harry’s chest ache.

Pulling back, he stood abruptly. “Don’t fall asleep with your trousers and pants pushed down like that, you’ll fall on your face as soon as you get up in the morning,” he said roughly, searching out and picking up his discarded clothes.

Ron grumbled something behind him, but it wasn’t clear. Harry turned to see he’d closed his eyes again, probably falling asleep.

Giving himself a moment to look over him, Harry took a deep breath, and then turned and fled to his room.

 

* * *

 

When he woke, Harry curled into a tight ball, and wished he could go back to sleep. He didn’t know how to face Ron. He should never have let last night happen. Ron would laugh it off, joke about how weird it was. Each word he’d speak would be like a knife to Harry’s gut.

Having feelings for him had been bad enough, but now he had more. He had the feel of Ron’s mouth, and the way he kissed. He had the feel of his hands, and the way he’d driven Harry mad. He had the look on Ron’s face when he’d come.

And he’d never forget that. But he’d never have it again.

Outside his room, he could hear Ron start to move around, he could hear things banging in the kitchen. On the weekends, if Harry didn’t get up before Ron, then Ron always dragged him out of bed after he’d cooked breakfast. But Harry didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to face him.

But it seemed he didn’t need to. Ron didn’t come to get him.


End file.
